


call me home and i will build a throne

by queenwithoutacrown



Series: lover of the light [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 00:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenwithoutacrown/pseuds/queenwithoutacrown
Summary: Karen blames it on the shitty diner.(Or: Karen and Frank try to make it work somehow.)





	call me home and i will build a throne

Karen blames it on the shitty diner.

It started with meeting a source, Frank as her backup because the guy seemed even shadier than the usual types she met with regularly, and almost dying in a shootout in an abandoned warehouse.

Miraculously they walked out of the whole ordeal without a scratch and the whole conversation on tape for her article.

So when he pointed at the neon signs of the rundown diner at 2am with the promise of coffee and some hot meal, Karen said yes. Thinking about the hygienic standards wasn't top priority then.

The coffee was pretty good actually, 6 of 10 stars on her scale. It got 4 from Frank, but he was extra picky on a good day and that day hadn't been one of those. They ordered enough food to feed a small army and she doesn't know which dish is to blame eventually, but she ended up with the worst food poisoning known to humankind.

Though any kind of food poisoning is the worst, probably.

Frank, the lucky bastard, was spared from the agony. Thankfully she was up and kicking again soon afterwards as well.

It's just that right now, she wishes it was the other way around.

Karen knows, of course. She has read the obligatory warning on the package leaflets just as anybody else, but there's a difference between knowing something and something actually happen to you.

_Vomiting and severe diarrhoea might hinder your body from taking up the active substances of the pill._

It's just that right now, with her aching knees on the cold tiles of her bathroom floor and the positive pregnancy test in her hands she wishes they had never set a foot in this diner.

 

*

 

She thinks about Frank's children.

The picture is permanently burned into her retina, a never-ending reminder of what he has lost, why he is fighting his own personal war every single night out in the streets of Hell's Kitchen.

But now it's like she can think about nothing else anymore.

 _I can't do this to him_ , echoes in her head like a broken record and she just-

Karen isn't sure what she wants.

Kids hadn't been something on her mind in the past few years, with the world going to hell quite literally. But it's also not something she doesn't want. She likes kids. And likes the idea of her and Frank's child.

What they have is not easy to describe. They have never defined their relationship, not by society's terms of it. It is a relationship, she is sure of that. Frank comes to her apartment more often than not, and these days he isn't even bleeding most of the time.

He kisses her temple on the mornings he has to leave and thinks she's still asleep. She calls him out on his shit and dresses his wounds. He prepares her coffee in the middle of the night when her deadlines are looming at the horizon. She makes his favourite food when she knows it's been a bad day for him. They make love in her bed, their bed, and sometimes they fuck against the kitchen counter.

Sometimes they fight because they are both stubborn and rough around the edges and fucked up, but they always make it work.

It's not a perfect life by any means, but it's pretty damn close.

But now there is this additional heart beating in her uterus and Karen can't get the faces of Lisa and Frank Jr. out of her head and ---

Pretty damn close to perfect falls apart all around her.

 

*

 

"You okay, Karen?"

Karen startles awake, pulse racing. But then Frank's face comes into view, his hand softly stroking a hair strand behind her ear. Worry is etched into every line of his face. She looks around and realizes she fell asleep on the couch with her laptop on top of her.

He repeats the question and she nods tiredly. "I'm just exhausted. Work's been a lot, lately."

It's not a lie, because they do not lie to each other. But the truth is still to raw. She doesn't have a way of softening the blow and until then she has her lips sewn together.

Frank smiles, his little trademark smile that has her heart go soft and the kisses him with all the love she feels for him.

It still feels a lot like lying.

 

*

 

The morning sickness worsens with every passing day, though it's more of a 24/7 feeling of unrelenting nausea. It's sheer luck he hasn't noticed yet, because there is a new lead to follow and more assholes to murder.

It becomes so bad even, she stays home sick one day and blames it on the flu.

"Just don't spread this bug of yours around the office. Don't want everyone else to get sick too," Ellison says over the phone.

 _Unlikely_ , she thinks, but thanks him nonetheless before falling into the cocoon of pillows and blankets of her bed. She knows she should see a doctor; get a professional opinion, an ultrasound and a prescription for prenatal pills.

She can't do any of that before she hasn't told him first.

But Karen can keep down less and less food, until even drinking water makes her puke. She loses both weight and sleep, indicated by protruding ribs, her even paler skin and the dark circles under her eyes.

She pulls herself back into a shell and the nights Frank does come home he worries even more.

Story of her life, it ends in blood.

 

*

 

The gash isn't deep or life-threatening.

It's superficial, a standard injury for him, but it needs a suture and some Neosporin.

"Dickhead only grazed me," Frank grunts out as he pulls off his demolished shirt. _It really doesn't look that bad_ , Karen thinks. She gets the first-aid kit anyway.

She has quite the practice of tending to his wounds these days, even had Claire show her how to sew properly and other shit she might need. It had paid to be prepared and she could say with a certain pride that her work looked almost profesional.

Frank sits down at the kitchen table, because the light is the best here they've found out by trial and error. Karen pulls a chair close and inspects the wound on his chest.

The gash isn't deep, but there is a lot of blood.

Her whole field of vision is swimming, stars dancing in front of her eyes. The taste of iron in the air is overwhelming, just as the rising nausea. But she beats it down and starts to thread the needle with shaking hands.

_Deep breaths, in and out._

It's not her best work, but the bleeding has stopped and he won't catch an infection.

"Thank you," he says softly. Karen waves it off, because talking feels like too much of an effort.

She rises to her weak legs and barely makes it to the kitchen sink before throwing up the meager content of her almost empty stomach. Frank is behind her in an instant. His hands land on her back and curl around her hip and somehow that makes it all so much worse.

"Karen?"

The words are on the tip of her tongue, but no sound leaves her lips. She turns on the faucet and rinses her mouth with water. Her heart is beating so fast, she's sure it's going to jump out of her chest any second.

Karen turns around and finally faces him. The worry is back again and it's her fault. She takes a step forward, a step closer to him, but she feels so hot and everything is blurry until everything descends into darkness.

 

*

 

When she wakes up again everything she sees is sterile white, only illuminated by a soft bed side lamp. There is an IV placed in the crook of her arm, attached to a bag of fluids. _A hospital_ , Karen's addled mind realizes belatedly.

"You feeling better?" She turns her head, to find Frank sitting in the shadows. He's wearing his baseball cap and the hood of his sweatshirt over it. Thankfully he's sporting quite the impressive beard at the moment.

She nods. "You brought me to a hospital?"

"I was scared, you- you collapsed and I--- uh. Claire pulled some strings."

"That's, uh, good. Yeah, good."

He scoots closer with his chair, but he's still far out of reach. He isn't touching her, as if she's got the plague. Unwanted tears well up in her eyes, but she swallows them down.

"Are you sick?" Frank suddenly asks.

The question confuses her. "What?"

"You have been ---," he gestures with his hands aimlessly, "--- sick and quiet lately. And you can tell me if something's wrong with you, no need to shelter me."

"Frank, I'm not ---"

"Because I thought we were always telling the truth."

"I'm pregnant."

She hadn't meant to yell it, but now it's out in the open now and Frank is quiet. The tears are falling freely now, running down her cheeks and staining the white linen blanket.

The silence rings in her ears like a gunshot.

She can't bring herself to look at him, only staring down at her hands. It might lessen the sting when he gets up and leaves the room, the hospital, _her_.

It's exactly the situation she hadn't wanted. She doesn't want to feel him obligated to anything, she doesn't want him to relieve his personal nightmare all over again. She isn't this selfish. They have always been so, so careful.

But the door stays closed and the room stays silent. Minutes pass until Karen can't take it anymore, throwing a glance his way. Frank looks like somebody slapped him, his hands, no his entire body shaking. But he is looking intently at her.

Karen wipes away some of the tears with the sleeve of her hospital gown, but they just keep coming. Part of her wants to reach out and touch him, but she's afraid he doesn't want her to. So she just pulls up the blanket higher and wraps it tighter around her.

Sharing a silent room with him has always felt like coming home, they didn't need words to understand each other. But now it's an empty void, the darkness swallowing her whole. She has never felt lonelier with him by her side and part of him growing inside her.

"You ever wanted to tell me that?" he breaks the silence. His voice isn't angry, only resigned maybe. Without any emotion.

"Yes." It's the truth, she would've told him. "But I didn't know what to say without hurting you."

He grunts. "Hurt _me_ ," he repeats. It's not a question.

"I was just as unprepared for this as you," she says softly. Karen looks at him almost shyly. "I know you don't want children. I understand."

"Somebody should really nominate you for sainthood, Page."

A wet sob escapes her throat as she laughs. "Patron saint of unplanned pregnancies at the worst possible timing? Sure, jot that down."

"Do you want this baby?" Frank asks finally. Her breath catches in her chest. The look in his eyes is so honest and expectant and well, they do not lie to each other.

"Yes."

He reaches out his hand and laces his fingers through hers, gripping tight, not letting go. Karen doesn't ask him if he wants this baby.

He stays silent, but he stays.

 

*

 

Weeks pass and he is still by her side. Frank's still going out into the night, though it's less frequently and Karen wouldn't expect anything else.

They rarely talk about the pregnancy, it's the big elephant in the room. But there are small reminders. Intense smells still have her heaving over the toilet, but now Frank's there to hold back her hair. She drinks tea these days, though the changeover isn't easy.

When she finds the picture of her first ultrasound pinned to the fridge warmth pools in her belly.

"You didn't have to do this," she whispers into his neck at night.

"I want you to have good memories," he says in return, stroking over her arm absently. Maybe somebody should recommend _him_ for sainthood too.

Then she is kissing him like stranded woman in the desert craves water, like holding your breath too long and coming up for air. Frank reciprocates her actions, sliding his tongue into her mouth.

It's been a while for them, with all the throwing up and the dizzy spells. But right now Karen wants and needs exactly this. And Frank seems to be on the same page as her.

Part of her wants to ask him if he thinks it's weird, but then she remembers it's most likely not the first time he's having sex with a pregnant woman and she wants to kick herself for letting her thoughts stray.

It must show on her face or in her actions, because Frank pulls away to take a good look at her. "We don't have to if you don't want to."

"No, no. I want to. It's just ---," she trails off. She feels awkward, explaining her insecurities. Her pregnancy isn't all too visible yet, but there is an obvious roundness to her stomach area now that hasn't been there before.

Frank gets it anyway.

He pulls her closer to him, kissing her with almost religious fervour. He gently lifts her by her hips and places her above him, and Karen can feel his erection press against her cotton panties.

His hands graze her tiny bump as if it was made of glass, something hasn't done before.

"You're gorgeous," he mumbles, before continuing to kiss her. They lose their clothes quickly. She is straddling his hips as he slowly sinks into her and fuck, the loud moan coming from her mouth would be embarrassing if it wasn't Frank who caused it.

He is more gentle with her, more deliberate.

Karen pretends she doesn't notice the tears he kisses away.

 

*

 

The nightmares get worse, the closer her due date approaches.

Both his and her.

The body count in Hell's Kitchen rises again, while the crime rate rapidly declines. Every criminal, every low-life cockroach in the city is scared to death of The Punisher's wrath, though nobody knows what has brought it on. There are rumours circling, each one more outlandish. Even Foggy calls, at Matt's instruction she's sure, to ask her if they are alright. She tells them both that they are.

Karen knows the truth.

Frank wakes up gasping and yelling, trashing and crying most nights. He doesn't tell her about it, not in detail, but she gets the gist of it. How could she not?

"It's not always _them_ I'm watching die," he confides one night and her heart just might break.

Her dreams are more abstract. It's usually Wesley, coming back from the dead, or Fisk, coming straight out of prison and they always hurt her baby.

So they spend a lot of time clinging to each other, their hands on her belly, to remind them what's real and what's not.

 

*

 

Frank is there when their daughter is born, once again with his ridiculous beard and a baseball cap. He wears it with as much dignity as possible. She's glad he's with her, and not only so she has a hand to crush.

Her first cry has them both crying tears of joy and relief. They put her on Karen's chest immediately. She has her blue eyes wide open and looks kind of pissed off. Definitely their child, without doubt.

Later the midwife swaddles her in a blanket, complete with one of the cute hats and hands her over to Frank. He hesitates for just a moment, but then gingerly settles her into his arms.

He looks like he stopped breathing, still as a marble statue.

Karen worries he might pass out any moment. "You okay?

Frank raises his head. His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Her. You. Staying. For believing in me. For everything. But right now, especially for her. She's perfect." Frank leans down and touches their daughter's forehead with his. 

"You're welcome," Karen answers with the brightest smile plastered on her face.

 

*

 

They make it work somehow.

Karen thinks about sending the shitty diner a gift basket.

She doesn't believe in perfect, but it's pretty damn close.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Lover Of The Light by Mumford & Sons  
> Tumblr: qqueenwithoutacrown
> 
> This has been my first story writing them, but the story took hold of me and didn't let me go. Feedback is very much appreciated. Thank you for reading.


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